by David Boiani
“You said that three beers ago,” Red said as he popped the cap off a fresh bottle and placed it in front of Sean.
Matt, another regular, said,” I’m sure he’ll say it after that one as well.”
“Hey guys,” a newcomer said as he sat down between Sean and Matt.
“How’s it going?” Sean asked. Red just raised his eyebrows and nodded at his new customer.
“My name is Artie,” he said as he stuck out his hand toward Red. “I heard this is the place to be.”
Red shook his hand. “Well now, my friend, that depends on what you’re looking for.” This brought a chuckle from Sean.
“Right now, I’ll settle for a Blue Moon,” Artie said.
“You got it, orange wedge with it?”
“Dude, you do realize that’s a chick beer, right?” Matt said.
“Really? Well, I like it, especially with the added orange flavor. It’s fruity.”
Red smirked as he placed the beer in front of Artie.
“Do you have chicken fingers here?”
“No, sorry… here’s a menu.”
“Chicken fingers? What do you think, this is a fast food joint?” Sean said with another chuckle.
“Chicken fingers would hit the spot right now, especially the honey barbeque ones.”
For the first time that afternoon, Sean was speechless.
Matt looked at Artie and said, “Hey. I’ve got a joke for you. Why did the chicken cross the road?”
“So, he could be made into chicken fingers for me. I don’t know, why?”
“To get to the idiot’s house. Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” Artie asked.
“The chicken,” Matt said, followed with a burst of laughter.
Artie shook his head. “Alright, I walked into that one.”
“I don’t get it,” Sean said. All three looked at each other and laughed.
Matt, after finally regaining control, looked at Artie and said, “Hey, did you know I went to Brown University? It’s an Ivy League school.”
“Umm, congrats,” Artie said.
“Yeah, I try not to talk about it much, but it does happen to come up in conversation.”
Red looked up and noticed John enter and take a seat at the end of the bar.
“Hey, what’s up partner?”
“Hi, Red.”
“Have you decided?”
“I have.” Red noticed an uncomfortable look on his friend’s face.
“What’s the problem? I detect some trepidation.”
“I lied to Julie. First time in my life,” John said as his eyes quickly darted away.
“Ouch, well, I’m sure you had your reasons.” Red noticed John’s discomfort and chose to change the subject. “So, you’re on the case?”
“Not yet, I will be after I talk to the captain.”
“Good luck, my friend. I have a feeling you would regret it if you declined his offer.”
“I may regret that I accepted it.”
“True, but if you really believed that, you wouldn’t have.”
Red walked over to take Artie’s food order as John’s text tone went off.
When Red returned, John showed the text to Red:
We got another one. A woman with a shotgun pointed at her head. We have twenty-three hours.
John paused for an instant that seemed to last an eternity before typing in a reply.
Red noticed John look up as he showed him what he typed:
I’m in. On my way.
John dropped the phone in his pocket, gave a slight nod to Red and left the restaurant.
Red watched him walk out, hoping that he helped his friend make the right decision.
John drove down the highway headed to the station with an overload of thoughts and emotions running through him. The killer had asked for him personally, but why? Being dishonest to Julie troubled and unnerved him, but he was thrilled to be doing what he loved again; pursue and catch criminals. He felt an adrenaline rush take over his body as he pulled into the station parking lot and entered the building for the first time in three years.
“John! It’s great to see you!” Detective Bernard said, looking up from his desk.
“Hi, Don. How have you been?” John asked as they shook hands.
“I’m great. We had another addition to the family.”
“Congratulations. Boy or girl?”
“Girl, Stephanie is thrilled. She always wanted a girl, and after Jacob and Tommy, she’d given up hope. We decided to try once more. The third was the charm. Are you back with us?”
“Just for one case. Running a restaurant keeps me pretty busy. Captain Johnson asked for my help, so here I am.”
Detective Bernard hooked a thumb back. “He’s in his office with the new kid. John, it was good to see you again. Good luck on the case.”
“Thank you,” John said, then headed to the captain’s office. He knocked on the door and the captain looked up from his desk and waved him in.
“John, so glad you decided to join us,” the captain said.
The first time John saw Ricky Burton, he detected similarities to his younger self some twenty years ago. John noticed the chest out, the cocksure stance and the bright, intense eyes meeting his own as John walked up to the desk.
“John, this is our new recruit and your new partner, Ricky Burton.”
“My pleasure, Ricky.”
“Same, I’ve heard quite a bit about you. You’re a legend in these parts,” Ricky said as the pair shook hands.
“Legend may be stretching it just a bit, but thank you.”
Captain Johnson turned his computer monitor so that John could view the screen. John took in the scene: a woman, hung up like Jesus himself, with a shotgun aimed at her head. On the bottom of the screen was a timer. It read: 22:34:16, 22:34:15, 22:34:14…
“Have we identified the perps MO yet? John asked.
“No. Different gender, ages, places, and times for all three victims. The only constant is the video setup and the unsub asking for you.”
As John intently watched the woman on the screen, he noticed Detective Burton glance at him out of the corner of his eye. His gaze lasted a split second too long as John could feel the unease and tension emanating from the young man. This kid didn’t trust him.
“Do you have any idea why the killer would be asking for you, Detective Corbin?” Ricky asked.
“None whatsoever,” John said, still feeling the thick stare from across the office.
***
As a lone dark figure watched John Corbin enter the station, a slight smile crept across his lips. His task was complete. He had succeeded in luring Corbin in. As the dark figure leaned back in his chair, he thought: now the real fun is about to begin.
***
“Are the feds involved yet?” John asked.
“No, but I’ve notified them and welcomed their help now that this is a serial case,” Captain Johnson replied. “So, John, what does your instinct tell you?”
“I think there’s a deeper meaning here. This will escalate. I have no idea why the killer asked for me, but we need to figure that out.”
“Don’t give these nut-jobs too much credit. Statistics say most of them don’t have a plan. They just need to quench their desires. The thought that they’re analytical, calculating planners is mostly inaccurate,” Ricky said.
“Maybe, but there is something going on here. The perp wanted our attention for a reason. He or she is toying with us.”
After struggling with her binds for an hour, the woman on the screen seemed to relax and accept her fate.
“So, what do we have to work with here? A deserted barn, an unknown woman, and your name, John.”
John asked, “Captain, do you have identification of the first two victims? How were they discovered?”
“The first victim was a homeless man in his sixties. We still have no I.D. Prints came back with no matches.
“How was he killed?”
&n
bsp; “Suffocated. He was tied to a bed and at twenty-four hours, a gloved hand came into view and blocked his airways until he was dead. Then the video shut down. The second was Nathan Jefferies; married, father of two boys.”
“He was dissolved by sulfuric acid, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Locations?” John asked.
“The first victim was found in a sleazy hotel room in Highland Park. Mr. Jefferies, or what was left of him, was located in a vacant machine shop in South Delridge.”
“Victims were about an hour apart. This one must be in a rural town,” Ricky said.
“We have her face. Have the feds run a search of their database for a match,” John suggested.
“Already on it,” the captain said, “but she would have to have a record. I think she’s clean.”
As the woman started to resume her struggle against her binds, new text appeared on the screen.
Welcome John, glad you could join us…
“What the…? How the hell…?” Captain Johnson picked up the station phone. “Bernard, he’s watching us. I want a team to search the area, now!”
“Will do captain.”
The text continued:
Now that we are all present, let’s have some fun. Up for a little challenge, comrades? Or, as I like to call it, a test. A test of wills, intelligence, and persistence. John, you are known as one of the best at what you do, now I will give you a chance to prove it. This young woman’s life depends on it. At twelve hours, I will send you a clue to the victim’s whereabouts. You need to solve the clue and save the innocent lovely lady in the allotted time, or her life will forever be on your conscience. Good luck, and may the best prevail…
The three men looked at each other with solemn expressions. John glanced at the timer on the screen: 19:48:03…
12:01:02, 12:01:01, 12:01:00…
John watched the time tick down towards the halfway point. He hoped the second twelve wouldn’t be as frustrating as the first twelve were. He glanced through the window into the office across the hall at the federal agents huddled around their own computer.
“Their feed is working, correct?” John asked.
“Yes, they are seeing everything that we see,” the captain replied.
12:00:03, 12:00:02, 12:00:01…
Suddenly, a wall of text appeared on the screen:
0 4 6 9 5 4 4 2 6 8
9 7 2 1 7 8 7 4 6 8
3 6 4 5 2 6 7 0 7 8
7 6 9 6 3 4 3 2 1 5
7 4 4 7 5 3 2 7 8 9
6 7 3 5 2 1 7 2 5 0
5 7 2 1 4 0 8 8 6 7
1 2 1 9 2 1 9 4 7 2
0 7 1 2 8 2 6 4 9 0
0 9 6 7 9 3 1 0 0 4
“What in fuck’s name is that?” Captain Johnson said.
“There’s a pattern there, hidden in the numbers. We have to figure out how and where it’s embedded,” Ricky said.
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“Captain, he’s challenging us to find the clue. There is something here that will lead us to the victim.”
“Ricky’s right. What hint could possibly be hidden in a wall of numbers? Maybe a code? Each number may represent a letter?” John said.
“But there is no definitive data to use as a starting point to make the pattern decipherable,” Ricky replied.
The captain turned his head sideways as he tried to make out some sense of the sequence.
“Maybe it’s something famous, a poem or lyrics to a famous song,” he suggested. “I’m going to run it by our friends next door. They have an expert code breaker present.”
John watched the captain enter the office across the hall, then turned to Ricky. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure yet. There’s a program that runs algorithms on a series of text or symbols to uncover patterns. That may help us here.”
“I’m talking about your gut. What does your gut tell you?”
Ricky looked at John and for the first time since they met and held his gaze.
“I don’t use gut feelings when on a case. All emotion should be checked at the door, and that includes instinct. Everything in this world can be broken down into simple mathematics: numbers, percentages, and equations. It’s called rational certainty”
“The problem with that theory is that we’re dealing with unstable, psychotic individuals who can use instinct and emotion when deciding their next move.”
“Psychopaths or sociopaths don’t have emotions,” Ricky countered.
“Maybe not empathy or love, but they do feel pride and have large egos, which more times than not factor into their decisions. I believe we need to combine our instincts and experience with raw data and percentages.”
Ricky finally looked away and glanced at the computer screen. “On that, we can agree to disagree. But, for her sake, we better find the perfect formula to uncover her whereabouts, or we’ll have another dead victim on our hands.”
3:01:23, 3:01:22, 3:01:21…
John watched the time tick down as his mind tried desperately to make sense of the numbers. The feds came up with nothing. No pattern, no code, or cryptography. The frustration was building to a crescendo and the more the men pressed, the more elusive the solution seemed. The captain was next door with the feds and Ricky stepped out to get some air and clear his head. Alone, John studied the numbers. If there was no code or pattern, the sequence of numbers must mean something. Maybe a zip code or an address? But with just over three hours remaining, there was no way they would figure it out in time. Plus, those clues seemed too vague to matter. This monster was evil, but he or she seemed to want to play this game fairly; a perfect battle of wits, on a level playing field. It had to be something more precise.
Captain Johnson walked back into the office.
“Anything?” John asked.
“No, nothing. Where do we go from here?”
“There’s something here, we just need to spot it.”
“I’m out of ideas. To add insult to injury, Bernard and his team couldn’t find anything. No sign of anyone watching the station. This killer is like a shadow… always present but dancing just outside of our sights,” Captain Johnson said.
John looked up as Ricky walked in with the same defeated and frustrated look on his face the captain wore.
“Any new ideas?” John asked.
“Nothing, this person is starting to piss me off.”
“It’s a man,” John replied.
“How do you know that?”
“Mostly my gut, but I have a few reasons. The way he communicates through text is masculine. Also, he seems to handle these people easily, which means he’s physically capable. A woman may have more of a struggle. But the main reason is ego; his desire to compete and prove how smart he is. He feels the need to prove he has superior intellect over us. Women are far less likely to care about that stuff.”
“I knew a few women that care plenty about that stuff. I swear they lived to prove me wrong,” Ricky said.
John and the captain both looked at Ricky and they all had a short laugh together.
00:38:13, 00:38:12, 00:38:11…
John’s thoughts raced through his head, sweat beaded on his brow and he could feel his heart rate racing. He glanced at the innocent woman on the screen who had abandoned her struggle long ago, and now hung limply from the shackles around her wrists. She had her eyes closed. She didn’t want to watch her life tick away. John once again studied the grid of numbers. Suddenly a thought came to his mind.
“Captain, what are the coordinates for Seattle?”
“The coordinates? You mean longitude and latitude?”
“Yes.”
Quickly, Ricky jumped to his feet and studied the grid with John. “Latitude is 47, longitude is 122.”
“Ricky, look for a sequence of 46-48 vertically and 121-123 horizontally.”
“I’m on it.”
John noticed the captain move closer to the screen to join in the search. “There.
121921947 starts on the eighth row down, left to right.
“Yes, I see it. Ricky, jot the sequence down. Eight numbers deep,” John said.
“Done, I see two vertically. 47732789 in the seventh row, and 47664772 in the second row, starting at the top”
“I’m getting the feds to locate those two points,” Captain Johnson said as he rushed to the office next door.
“Get ready to fly, Detective Burton,” John said as he looked at his younger accomplice.
“I’m always ready. Can I trust you to drive, or are you too old?”
Captain Johnson burst into the office, “Men, we have the two locations. One is Snoqualmie Trail, Issaquah. The other is Carnation Farm Road in Carnation.”
“I know them. Both are approximately thirty minutes out. I’ll take Ricky and head to Carnation. Send the exact coordinates to my GPS.”
“I will have the locals check out each location if they can beat us there. I’ll send the Feds to Issaquah.”
Before John hurried out he glanced at the screen and set the stopwatch on his wrist to match the time on the screen: 00:23:58, 00:23:57, 00:23:56…
00:16:49, 00:16:48, 00:16:47…
John drove southeast on I-5 with his siren on and police lights flashing. He knew the time was very tight, and every second mattered. He increased his speed and caught a glimpse of Ricky holding on for dear life in the passenger seat.
“Don’t worry, rookie, I’ve been doing this a long time.”
He slowed down to take exit 168B onto WA-520.
00:09:10, 00:09:09, 00:09:08…
Captain Johnson’s voice came over the radio: “John, the coordinates in Carnation are on NE Carnation Road, a few miles up on the left. There’s an old vacant barn that used to be part of the Talbot Farm before the bank foreclosed on the property.”
“Got it. I know where it is.”
John increased his speed as he traveled down WA-202. He weaved in and out of traffic and drove on the other side of the road when he needed to. He turned left onto NE Tolt Hill Road. Which lead to WA-203 N, straight into Carnation.